


The Dark Phoenix

by lannisterlion



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8109280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannisterlion/pseuds/lannisterlion
Summary: Modern AU. Ross Poldark has been on a bad run. The girl he loved married his cousin, he suffered a terrible injury while serving in the military which earned him an honorable discharge, and he faced the untimely death of his father just as he was coming home. He stepped up to fill the shoes his father left behind, taking control of his part of the company, only to find that Poldark Mines was not in the financial shape his uncle led him to believe and his father's death may not be all that it seemed. Join Ross on a journey as he picks through the rubble he left behind and finds himself once again.





	1. Chapter One

Captain Ross Poldark sat in the brightly lit hallway, his fingers absently tapping the manila folder sitting in his lap. The cheap, plastic chair creaked as he shifted his weight slightly, joining the cacophony of office noise - heels tapping on the linoleum floor, phones ringing constantly, and the loud sighs of overworked and underpaid government employees. He’d had an appointment scheduled an hour ago, but that hour had come and gone and by the look of things, he shouldn’t have expected anything different.

Just when he was ready to leave and get his paperwork turned in another day, the door swung open and a man about his age limped out on crutches, wincing with each step. Just behind him, a frazzled woman appeared, keeping the door propped open as she checked her calendar on her smartphone. Her dark eyes settled on Ross, then the manila folder in his lap. “Poldark, Ross?” she asked, keeping the formality in place. Slowly, Ross rose from the chair and offered her a curt nod, trying his best not to limp as he walked into the office.

He took a seat in the pleather chair across from her desk, old and stained and in need of replacing years ago. It crackled as he sat uncomfortably, laying the manila folder on her desk. Emblazoned on a cheap wooden placard was her name, Marcia Wilson. Ms. Wilson was the quintessential government employee - she wore a smart tan pantsuit paired with kitten heels, still wore blue eye makeup from the 80s and lipstick that was more orange than brown. Bags lined her eyes and her hair looked fried from having given up on it years ago. Ross offered her a small smile, hoping to get everything over with quickly. He’d been dreading that day since he first got hurt.

“Captain Poldark,” Ms. Wilson started, taking a seat in the too-old roller chair behind her desk. She grabbed the manila folder he carried with him, his discharge papers neatly filed inside, ready to be signed. “Let me first thank you on behalf of our nation and people for your service these last eight years.”

“Thank you, ma’am. It’s been an honor.” Ross mustered all of the enthusiasm he could, but found himself lacking. He’d joined the army just out of university, to “grow up” for Elizabeth’s sake. Not that it mattered; she’d fallen in love with Francis all the same, who’d had considerably less growing up to do, it seemed. So Ross poured all of himself into his career, earning the rank of Captain and learning true responsibility, all for it to end at the hands of a poorly made pipe bomb.

“And how is your leg, Captain Poldark?” Ms. Wilson asked, her pen scratching against the paper as she signed her name. Ending his career as he knew it. Ross squeezed his knee, as if to try to stem the pain before it came; he still had shoots of pain here or there, and if his doctor was to be believed, he always would. But it was nothing like it had once been.

“Stronger every day, ma’am,” Ross conceded, his fingers drumming against his thigh. He still wasn’t sure how or why it’d happened. A supply truck came in, just as normal, and he was there to unload it with his men. One minute, he was handing a crate to one his guys, the next he was flat on his back, completely dazed. It wasn’t until later he learned the extent of the damage to his leg and that he’d earned a nasty scar on his face for his trouble as well.

“Well, Captain, that’s wonderful to hear. Your case is pretty cut and dry – your doctors have said your leg simply won’t be strong enough for the duties required of you. You are receiving an honorable discharge and we truly appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made. There are resources out there for wounded veterans, you know…” Ms. Wilson’s voice continued on in a monotone and Ross allowed her. Her dark eyes had brightened when she spoke about resources and the help out there – it was clear to him that she started this job to do good and became a bureaucratic paper pusher along the way instead. Who was he to take away Marcia Wilson’s moment?

“I thank you, ma’am,” Ross started once she finished, his voice soft and full of all the niceties expected of him. “I promise you, I will have every resource at home, but I thank you for your help.” Ms. Wilson’s face was practically beaming as she handed over his certificate. She rose from her desk and Ross pushed himself out of the chair, keeping his face stoic even as a jolt of pain raced up his leg from standing too quickly. Ms. Wilson offered him a consolation pat on his shoulder as she walked the couple of steps to the door, opening it for him.

“I wish you all of the best in the world, Captain Poldark. This is the start of a wonderful new beginning for you.” Marcia Wilson, ever the optimist, it seemed. Ross gave her one last tight-lipped smile and then started walking down the hall, keeping his gait controlled and normal until he turned the corner, out of her line of sight. Only then did he allow himself to walk unevenly and give into the limp that still plagued him.

Outside, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his father. The line rang and rang, causing Ross to roll his eyes. Joshua Poldark and technology had never been agreeable, even when all he had to do was push a single button. Ross had little time to keep trying to call him; he had some things to pack up at his flat there in London and then he would be bound for Truro, where his father was supposed to be meeting him. “Hey, old man, I’m out. I’ve got some business to finish in London, then I’ll be on my way. Are you still picking me up in the morning? Call me.”

Ross hung up and started back toward his flat, pulling the hood of his hoodie over his head to avoid having to look anyone in the face.

\--

In the morning, just a little after eight, Ross’s train pulled into Truro. He’d cleaned up for his family’s sake – shaved the night before, pulled his unruly long hair up, and even pulled out his least wrinkled plaid button down for the occasion. Stepping off the train, he expected to have time to catch something for breakfast before his ever-late father made it to the train station, but was greeted by the sight of his pasty cousin Francis instead.

Ross couldn’t be sure when he’d last seen his cousin. A couple of years ago, at least – the two hadn’t quite got on since he’d married Elizabeth. Little had changed about Francis. He was the so-called “fair” Poldark, both because he was pasty and blond and because he was more refined. Ross had taken his mother’s olive complexion and her unruly black hair along with his father’s wildness. At one time, their differences had brought them close together and closer than any brothers could’ve been. Ross would come up with a ridiculous plan for mischief and Francis would find a way to keep them out of trouble for it. But once they started university and Francis became serious about taking the reins of the family mine, they grew further and further apart. Both of them being in love with the same woman didn’t help much, especially when she chose the safer bet.

“Francis,” Ross greeted, his voice even-keeled. His cousin’s blue eyes were watery and red-rimmed and Ross didn’t miss the way that he fidgeted far more than normal. Ross’s brows pinched together as he cocked his head, unsure what in the hell would make Francis so jittery. “Francis. Where’s my father? I thought he was picking me up.”

“Ross…” Francis started, reaching out boldly to clasp Ross’s arm. “Ross, I am so sorry. They found Uncle Joshua this morning. He had a heart attack last night.”

Ross exhaled, shaking his head. “No, I called and talked to him yesterday morning. He was fine. I mean, as fine as he could be…”

Francis was unwavering, his fingers gripping Ross’s arm a bit tighter. “No, cos, he’s gone… it happens like this sometimes, you know. All the years of booze – it just caught up to him.”

Ross was in a state of disbelief, unable to process what Francis was saying to him. Around him, the trains continued to rumble in and out, people laughed and talked and bumped into each other – life was continuing as normal just as Ross’s seemed to continue to fall apart. Joshua and he weren’t even that close, but returning home was supposed to give him time to have some peace, to finish recovering from his injury, and to figure out what he was supposed to do with the rest of his life.

“Come on, Ross, you’re going to stay with us,” Francis urged, tugging at Ross’s arm. “You can’t stay at your dad’s. Not tonight anyway. You know we’ve got the room and Dad will be delighted to see you. Verity’s home for the summer, Aunt Agatha will want to make a fuss over you. And Elizabeth…” Francis said the last part tenuously, his features wincing as he said her name. The three of them had never really worked things out.

Ross surprised himself by nodding. The news had left him in a state of shock, numb to Francis’s words. Of course his cousin was right… he couldn’t stay in the old house. When his mother had died, those first few nights without her had been awful. Joshua had immediately sought comfort in the bottle, leaving Ross to tough things out on his own. With everything else on his plate, he wasn’t in a position to tough it out on his own this time. At the very least, he could sneak in some whiskey and get drunk with his old great aunt if the rest of the company proved disagreeable. When Francis started to pull at his arm once more, Ross let him, the two of them leaving the old, musty train station behind.

\--

Trenwith Estate had been in the Poldark family for hundreds of years, a fact that Ross’s Uncle Charles was always eager to point out in mixed company. As boys, Francis and he would run through the sprawling fields, often finding some of the ancient buildings that still stood, a testament to the truth of Charles’ words. Ross had broken his arm as a boy climbing up a crumbling rock wall that finally gave way with him on top of it – so many memories at Trenwith and all of them seemed to hit at once as Francis began the drive down the long and winding driveway.

The meadow flowers were in full bloom, mixing in with the smell of the salty sea air that made Ross’s chest hurt. He’d been away from home for so long, had buried the feelings of homesickness, and all of it seemed to be bubbling inside of him all at once. If Francis noticed the pained look on Ross’s face, he had the decency not to say anything at all about it and kept his attentions on the narrow driveway.

Trenwith House hadn’t changed at all, an oddly comforting fact to Ross as he stepped out of Francis’s car. The home was an old Tudor style complete with ivy crawling up the sides, massive for an old country home. It’d been gutted and remodeled countless times through the years, though Charles boasted of how little the appearance of the house had changed in hundreds of years. It certainly hadn’t changed in Ross’s thirty.

Ross had barely pulled his bag out of the trunk before the rest of the Poldarks began to assemble out in front of the house. His uncle had gained considerable weight since the last time Ross had seen him. Charles had grown pasty in his older age - a resemblance that Francis had the misfortune to inherit – his face reddened and ruddy. Beside him stood old Aunt Agatha, still on her feet and spry as ever, despite how tiny and fragile she looked. Ross figured she had to be at least ninety, though she appeared and acted as though she were twenty years younger. Assisting her was his cousin Verity who looked very well for herself. She’d grown out of her awkward years, it seemed, though he supposed she was still ever the academic. And lastly, beside her, Elizabeth.

It seemed like an eternity since he’d first laid eyes on her. They were teenagers and Ross had barely just begun to figure out that girls liked him. Elizabeth had been a challenge for him. She hadn’t been receptive to his poor attempts at flirting at first… no, she made him try. Made him work for the attention she would give him. And who could blame her for that? She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, had made excellent grades and had a bright future ahead of her. At that age, he had nothing but his rugged good looks to get him by. Always in trouble, not serious about anything – 

Ross averted his gaze, afraid he’d settled on hers for too long. She was still as radiant as always, after all, and he hadn’t missed the way her eyes had sparkled as Francis walked toward her. He’d kept far away from Elizabeth and she still had a hold on him, it seemed.

“Oh, Ross,” Verity started, leaving her post at Aunt Agatha’s side to wrap him up in a hug. He returned the gesture, offering her a small, tight-lipped smile as he pulled back. He didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on the scar that cut down his cheek, no doubt as taken aback by it as everyone was when they first laid eyes on it. She rubbed his arm, trying to be soothing, though there was little that could’ve helped Ross.

Charles was next to offer his condolences, offering a brief hug to his nephew. “My dear boy, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need… you have my word on that.” Ross nodded at his Uncle, murmured a low thank you, then turned to his great aunt. Her small, cold hand reached out to take his, squeezing as much as she could manage.

“I believe you and I are related, are we not?” she asked, her mouth curling into the mischievous Poldark smile that Ross and Joshua had inherited. “Although if you don’t get rid of that ridiculous bun, I might cease to claim relation.”

“Aunt!” Verity scolded, but her protest was cut off by the sound of Ross’s laughter which soon mingled with his great aunt’s. It seemed as if she was the only person who understood that the last thing he needed was for everyone to tell him how sorry they were. Elizabeth waited until the laughter died down, then slowly walked over to stand beside Aunt Agatha. 

“I am truly sorry, Ross. This isn’t the homecoming you deserve.” At once, the other Poldarks present turned their attention to Ross and Elizabeth, to see how the pair would behave themselves. Ross wasn’t sure what they were expecting – did they think he would fly into a fit of rage? Maybe they thought he might steal her away, abscond back to his father’s neighboring estate with his old flame? Or maybe that they’d be overcome in a fit of passion and start going at it in the driveway in front of the family?

Ross simply nodded, just as he’d been doing for most of the day. He’d never been an eloquent man, but ever since returning to England after his injury, he’d become a man of very few words. “Thanks,” he added hastily, reaching down to pick up his bag. “Thank all of you. I know it’s not just me mourning my father.”

Charles let out pained choke, concurring with his nephew. “Come on, lad, we’ll get you to your room so you can have some rest. There’s… plans to be made. It’s understandable if you need some time, Ross.”

Plans. As in, the funeral and Nampara Estate. There would be lawyers to talk to, inheritances to work out. What a welcome home indeed. “Thank you, Uncle Charles.”

Verity took Ross’s arm once more, leading him inside. “Come on, Ross, I’ll take you up. Same room as always, of course…” She offered him the brightest smile she had to give and Ross couldn’t help but appease her. Together, they started up the familiar old staircase, still creaking in all of the same spots. Down the hallway and to the left – that’s where his usual guest bedroom was. Part of him couldn’t help but to be pleased nothing had changed there, either. Still had the same huge four-poster bed that was really too large for the room. The old, antique vanity that had actually been Aunt Agatha’s sister’s still sat crooked in the corner, looking too fragile to hold anything of substance with the matching dresser on the other side of the room, freshly dusted, he guessed, judging by the lemony clean smell that lingered behind. The blue wallpaper speckled with pink flowers still hung, as did the once-white curtains that had turned cream through the years.

“God, it’s like walking into a time machine,” Ross commented as he sat his bag down. Verity leaned against the door jamb, her own eyes appraising the antique room as she nodded in agreement.

“Elizabeth’s been updating as much as she can… guest rooms just aren’t at the top of the list. And Aunt Agatha gets upset if she sees old stuff leaving, so everything has to get moved when she’s in town at a doctor’s appointment.” Verity’s thin lips curled into a conspiratorial smile, which Ross couldn’t help but match. “It is good to have you home, Ross, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.”

“Life rarely ever is ideal,” Ross said, sighing softly as he took a seat on the old bed. It creaked from age, but the mattress felt newer and he was relieved that he wouldn’t be forced to sleep under the smelly, yellow comforter of his childhood. It seemed Elizabeth had replaced the bed linens in the guest rooms, at least, if not the furniture. 

“No, it’s not,” Verity conceded. “Look I know it’s awkward with Francis and –“

“It’s not awkward. You’re the ones being awkward,” Ross interrupted, squeezing his knee. He heard Verity’s patient sigh and let his shoulders droop a bit before looking back at her. “Sorry. I just – it’s over, you know? She loves Francis and she should. I moved on with my career. There’s no need to keep bringing it up.”

“I only meant that you know there’s always a place for you here. Francis and I have missed you dearly, Ross. Even before Uncle Joshua – well, we knew you’d need help coming back. He told us about your leg and all of the rehab you’ve had to do for it. We want to help you… me, Francis, Dad, and Elizabeth. Don’t lose sight of us. That’s all I’m saying.” Verity came to stand beside him, rubbing his shoulder lightly. “There’s still some breakfast left over. Do you want me to get Ms. Tabb to bring something up for you?”

“No, thank you,” Ross said softly. “Not just for offering breakfast. For, well, everything. It means a lot, Verity.” With a final exchange of smiles between the two, Verity finally left, closing the door behind her and giving Ross a change to digest everything once he was alone. Laying back on the bed, he stared up at the yellowing popcorn ceiling, tears brimming his eyes as his father’s death began to sink in. “You’re a fucking asshole for leaving me right now,” Ross said at the ceiling, his hands clutching at the comforter underneath him.

\--

“Ahh, Ross, my boy,” Charles called out as his nephew walked past his in-home office. Ross had been on his way to the back patio where his great aunt occupied most of her time. The old woman always had a nip of gin somewhere on her person and Ross figured the two of them could do with a drink. Still, he stopped outside of his uncle’s office and walked inside, his limp a bit more noticeable than it had been that morning. Charles had the grace to say nothing of it.

“Did you get any rest?” Charles asked, reaching into his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. The office was much more modern than the guest room upstairs. His oak desk was simple and small compared to what Ross would’ve pictured his uncle using. The chairs were all a fine brown leather – real leather, as opposed to the fake, cracking pleather in Marcia Wilson’s office. Pictures of Grambler Mine, the prize of the Poldark family, hung around the office as well as a stuffed deer head just behind Charles’s chair. Ross had never taken his uncle for a hunter, but he supposed some things must’ve changed since he’d been gone.

“I did. I feel better for it,” Ross lied, though Charles didn’t seem to notice. He caught a glimpse of the header of the stack of papers in his uncle’s large hands, reading his father’s name across the top. Ross felt his brows pinch together at the sight, unsure how his uncle could’ve come across his father’s will so soon after his death.

Charles seemed to read Ross’s mind. “Your father gave me a copy of his will just as I gave him a copy of my own. This isn’t the notarized edition, of course, but I wanted to talk about your future, Ross.” Ross sharply inhaled, tired of talking about his future, though Charles pressed on. “I promised your father I’d always look after you, and he the same for Francis and Verity. Joshua never saw you taking up the family business. He, of course, was the owner of Wheal Leisure and Wheal Grace and had the second-most shares in Poldark Mines. He intended to liquidize the two mines for your inheritance and return the shares to me.”

Charles was right. Joshua had never seen Ross working with the mines. It’d taken a tremendous effort for Ross to graduate with his degree in business just to suit him to take over the mines. And Joshua had been less than pleased when Ross joined the military on a whim, spending his time in the middle of a desert instead of learning the family business. But he’d returned home now, with a mangled leg that prevented him from going on any further wild tears.

“This isn’t a decision you have to make now, Ross, but I propose you keep the mines open and keep the shares. Buckle down and join me and your cousin. You’ll make a good living doing it and it’ll keep you busy. It’s what your father would’ve really wanted,” Charles finished, his words hitting Ross right in the gut. He handed over the stack of papers, Joshua Poldark’s last will and testament, and gave Ross a thin-lipped smile. “Go on, my boy, think on it. We’ve got arrangements for Joshua to make, I know, but after my brother’s funeral, I hope you’ll take your place where you belong. We’ve got an important vote with our board of directors soon and I’ll need a decision by then, you see.”

Ross wasn’t sure if his uncle honestly thought he’d say no. It was either say yes or live off his inheritance doing nothing for the rest of his life. He may have been reckless and wild in his youth, but Ross had never been lazy. Slowly, he eased out of the chair and reached over to shake his uncle’s thick hand. “Thank you, uncle. I’ll look over this more and I’ll give you an answer after the funeral. Tomorrow, I’m to make the arrangements. For now, I think I will find Aunt Agatha and share a drink with her.”

Charles let out a hearty laugh as he squeezed Ross’s hand. “Very well, very well. If you get tired of that crazy old bat, have Francis take you into town for some drinks. I think you’ve earned yourself a couple!” 

Ross let go of his uncle’s hand and limped out of his office, down to the garden where Aunt Agatha sat in waiting. He didn’t have to say a word before she produced a flask from her knitting kit and passed it to him, her frail hand shaking slightly as Ross took it from her. Her hands went back to knitting and, for the first time since Ross came home, he finally felt comfortable.


	2. Chapter Two

Joshua Poldark was buried in his cranberry velvet smoking jacket, complete with a navy blue pocket square and his favorite matching slippers. Ross couldn’t help but let his mouth twitch into a smile when he saw his father cleaned up for the first time. He’d always heard that the dead looked peaceful and Joshua certainly did – he supposed his father was just happy to be reunited with his mother somewhere in Heaven, or at least that’s what he kept hearing from funeral guests. Ross wished they’d shut up and leave him alone.

The funeral itself went off with only a few minor incidences. The high winds on the cliffs made the priest’s robes flap all around him as he spoke, sometimes occasionally hitting him in the face. A passing seagull managed to shit on the head of Joshua’s butler, Jud, who cursed toward the sky at it in the middle of the funeral. His Uncle Charles began to color redder and redder until he finally emitted a loud belch just as Ross released a fistful of dirt on top of his father’s coffin. The ridiculousness of it all made Ross laugh as he walked away from the grave, causing a few guests to gasp and his uncle to turn a deeper shade of red.

“Try to pull yourself together,” Verity lightly scolded as she caught up with her cousin, elbowing him gently in the side. Ross had been staring down at the ground at an attempt to conceal the wide smile plastered on his face, the first real smile he’d had in him since he’d returned home a few days ago.

“Were you at the same funeral I was?” Ross asked incredulously, turning to gesture back toward the line of mourners throwing their dirt into the ground. “The old man would’ve laughed with me and you know it.” Verity lightly narrowed her eyes, saying nothing. With an exaggerated sigh, Ross finally let go of his smile, looking up at the sky once more. “I’m going to miss him, even if he was a pain in my ass.”

“How are you holding up, Ross? I can’t imagine the amount of stress you’ve been under since you came home.” Verity knew her cousin was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at a moment’s notice if he wasn’t careful. He kept downplaying whatever it was he must’ve been feeling, saying he was fine and refusing to talk about anything other than the weather or football or, perhaps most surprisingly, The X Factor. She recognized little of her cousin in his wrinkled suit and ever-growing beard.

“I’m fine.” It was the same answer Ross had been giving to everyone since coming home. He was fine, he kept telling himself. He would miss his father, but fathers die. It was the circle of life and he would find a way to get over it. “Come on, we should get back to Nampara. Do you really want to miss the shitshow that’s about to unfold? All of the county under one roof.”

Verity pursed her thin lips, narrowing her eyes at him once more. A part of her wanted to shake her cousin by the shoulders, until he finally opened up about what was going on inside of his head. But Ross was determined not to say anything and the Poldarks were a family cursed by stubbornness. “Fine, but when all of this is over, you need to just… just let it all out!” She swung her arms out wide, pantomiming the flood of emotions she was sure Ross had corked up inside of him. Ross turned his head toward her, one thick eyebrow raised in question.

\--

The Nampara Estate had always been for the second-hand Poldarks until Ross’s grandfather had gotten a bit greedy, managing to inherit both and keeping them until Joshua finally married. Only then did he agree to part with Nampara and sold it to Joshua. Unlike Trenwith, there’d been many Nampara houses. About every fifty years or so, whatever Poldark was in charge seemed to catch a wild hair and build a new house while tearing down the old. The only relic from the original house was a solid stone chimney a hundred or so yards from the main house, forgotten and buried under a thicket of wild vines.

The current Nampara house was Joshua’s eclectic creation, built when Ross was a little over a year old. Its architecture was out of place for coastal Cornwall and looked like something that belonged on a Californian beach. From the outside, it looked like two big boxes sat on top of each other, with the top floor being a little wider than the bottom. It was painted a crisp white and featured huge windows that streamed light inside. A balcony spanned the top floor and a large porch wrapped around the bottom floor, both outfitted with glass railings so no one could ever miss a view.

Grace Poldark had been a little more conservative in her tastes; inside, the walls were painted a warm, neutral beige. The furniture, though worn down from age, was still mostly passable considering the last time she’d had a chance to decorate was nearly seventeen years ago. She preferred soft, neutral pieces that blended into the walls. Pops of oranges, reds, and purples were found in the decorative throw pillows that still covered up most of the couches. Bright and eccentric art pieces hung from the walls – Picasso had been her favorite artist and cheap reprints of his famous paintings were still proudly displayed as if they were originals.

Ross stepped into his old house for the first time in years just a half hour before the reception was scheduled to begin. The place had been freshly cleaned and he could see his surface in nearly every reflection, which caught him by surprise. Jud and Prudie Paynter, his father’s hired help, had never been particularly good at their jobs. He supposed he had Verity and Francis to thank for spurring them into action while he’d been sitting dumbstruck at Trenwith.

“This place hasn’t changed much either,” Ross commented as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes roaming the living room. After his mother’s death, Joshua never could find the heart to change anything from the way she left it. Grace had been the only love he’d ever known, and losing her had crushed him.

Verity eyed her cousin warily; she wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting from Ross, but she knew his aloofness couldn’t last long. Eventually, he’d have to crack – it was the only healthy thing. Crack and crumble and then rebuild, stronger than ever. But Ross seemed in no hurry to crack, at least not publicly, and instead walked through the house, appraising its condition before the guests arrived.

Ross never stayed in once place for too long during the funeral reception. He offered his thanks from one group to the next, his throat constricting tighter with each greeting he gave. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d mentioned the whole county had come out to the reception. The miners that worked Wheal Grace and Wheal Leisure were there, as well as other mine owners through the county, smelters, brokers, and bankers – all melded together to create a noisy and hot atmosphere.

Everyone seemed determined to ask him the same thing. How was he holding up? What was his base in Afghanistan like? What will he do now that he was home? Was he leg feeling any better? And if they weren’t asking the prying questions, they were plying him with I’m-sorries and thank-you-for-your-services and if-you-need-anything-just-calls. Ross knew he should feel grateful that his father did have so many friends that cared for him and wanted to help, but all he could feel was annoyance. He wanted to be left alone, dammit, why couldn’t they all just leave him alone?

Finally, Ross excused himself to go outside and get a breath of fresh air. The smell of the sweet sea breeze was a comfort to him. Even if all of the people inside were a nuisance, it did feel good to be home and not stuck in the middle of a desert hell.

“I wondered if I’d get a moment to talk to ya.” Ross winced at first; clearly he wasn’t alone outside like he’d hoped. He turned, ready to plaster on his fake smile and fall into the charade all over again. But he was greeted with the gruff face of an old friend instead. Zacky Martin. Ross stepped forward and clapped the older man on the shoulder as a friendly greeting. Zacky returned the gesture and smiled at his old friend, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed one to Ross before plucking one out for himself.

“Smoking’ll kill you, you know,” Ross mumbled after placing the cigarette between his lips, lighting it and savoring the bitter burn in the back of his throat. All he needed was Aunt Agatha’s flask and he’d finally find some peace.

“So will getting your arse blown up by a bomb, but you’re still standing. No worse for wear,” Zacky replied, lighting his own cigarette before tucking the pack back into his shirt pocket.

“No worse for wear? I’ve got screws in my goddamn leg now!” Ross let out a low laugh as he leaned on the glass railing of the porch. His fingers deftly flicked off the ash of the cigarette. “Though, I guess I should be thankful I’ve still got a leg.”

“That’s the spirit,” Zacky said with a chuckle, shaking his head lightly. The two fell into a companionable silence for a moment as they watched the gulls dive down into the sea to find their fish. “You already know you can come to me if you needed anything.”

“Yes.” Ross tensed lightly, preparing himself for another speech. 

“Good. Now that that’s outta the way, we can talk business.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Zacky. Not you too.” Ross was tired of talking about his future, especially when he had no idea what he wanted for his future. He’d often pictured Elizabeth seeing the man he’d grown into, choosing him over Francis, and the pair of them living out the sickly sweet fantasy life found in romance novels. And when she’d fallen in love with Francis and married him, he’d pictured himself being some badass general with cool war stories to tell around the local pubs. Now he was just a retired Captain who had to limp everywhere he walked. His future was apparently with Poldark Mines, no matter how much he didn’t want it.

“It isn’t just you this affects, Ross,” Zacky pressed, his tone a bit more pointed. “I love you, brother. But if the rumors are true, you’ve got a couple hundred people that’ll be out of a job in the coming months.”

“They won’t be out of a job,” Ross replied, sighing softly. “I’m taking over the reins of Wheal Leisure and Wheal Grace, and I’ll hold onto my shares in Poldark Mines. And if I ever find something else to occupy my time, you know I won’t just abandon you all.”

Zacky looked visibly relieved and another smile spread across his features. “Well, you’re lookin’ at your operations manager, you know. Your father offered me the job a few months ago. So, you’ll need to get off your arse here soon and take a trip down to the mines. There’s plenty to be done. And I think it’ll be a good distraction.” Ross knew his friend was right. The sooner he could get his hands dirty again, the less he’d be stuck inside of his own mind. 

“Fair enough. I’ve got to meet with the lawyers and the shareholders of the company, but nothing changes for your people, alright?” Ross promised, reaching over to grasp Zacky’s hand in a firm handshake. Zacky was practically beaming at the words.

“Thank you, Ross. You’ve relieved the minds of a lot of men – especially this one right here.” Zacky clapped Ross’s shoulder once more before pushing off of the glass rail and stubbing out his cigarette. He started back inside, pausing halfway to the door. “Oh, and I like your new beauty mark.”

Ross chuckled lightly, bringing his hand up to lightly finger the new scar on the side of his face.

\--

Three days after the funeral, Joshua Poldark’s official, notarized will was read in the office of Harris Pascoe. Pascoe’s Bank had been in Harris’s family about as long as Poldark Mines had been in Ross’s. All of the mining accounts were filtered through Pascoe’s, and Harris himself was considered a close family friend. It was his vaults that stored Joshua’s will and Grace’s precious jewelry. And it was his advice on good investments that had grown Joshua’s bank account through the years.

Like Charles, Harris had gained a considerable amount of weight since the last time Ross had seen him. And also like Charlies, Harris’s face seemed to stay red and ruddy throughout the meeting. Ross supposed it was the plight of all old men and he’d one day face the same fate. 

The notarized will was the same as the copy that Charles had given to Ross, so there were no surprises as it was read aloud with all of them surrounded by lawyers. Ross was to inherit the Nampara Estate and the house to go with it, as well as all of the contents of the land and house. He could choose to sell it if he wanted. He’d take possession of his mother’s belongings and his father’s accounts. And while Joshua had intended to liquidate the mines and give his shares to Charles, Ross would take control of those too, as carefully overseen by the team of lawyers Charles had assembled.

Throughout the meeting, Pascoe fidgeted in his seat and began to sweat profusely, as if somehow the will affected him in any way. Ross noted the peculiar behavior but attributed it to grief – Pascoe had been close to Joshua, after all, and it was never easy to lose a friend. It wasn’t until all the papers were signed and the gentlemen began to rise from their chairs that Pascoe became more forthcoming.

“Er, Ross, if you will, stay a minute so I can send for the keys to your mother’s vault,” Pascoe started, his face turning a bit pinker. Charles gave the man a look that Ross couldn’t quite read before patting Ross on the back and leaving. Ross’s brows furrowed together; he hated feeling out of the loop.

Pascoe rose from the long, formal meeting table and motioned for Ross to join him at his desk on the other side of the room. Like many of the wealthy men Ross had grown accustomed to dealing with, Pascoe had his office richly decorated. Walls painted a deep red, heavy, oak furniture, gold lamps and wall sconces – all contained in a huge room at the top floor of his bank to offer an extraordinary view of the bustling little city below.

Ross took a seat in front of Pascoe’s desk, expecting some manner of small chit-chat before he had the keys brought up as he said. Instead, Pascoe handed over a small packet, keys already enclosed. “Oh – I thought you were going to have them brought up.” 

“No, I just wanted a moment to speak with you privately,” Pascoe began, finally getting to the point. He slid off of his suit jacket and pulled out a linen handkerchief, wiping at his brow before continuing. “Ross, I was glad when I heard you were taking up your father’s position. He and I were old, good friends, you know…” Ross nodded, waiting for the old man to continue.

“I hope, in the spirit of that friendship, you’ll find it in yourself to help me. What I’m asking for could get me in a heap of trouble, so please, forgive me in advance, Ross. Your uncle and the board of Poldark Mines are about to switch financial institutions. Your family’s money is a large part of our bank – we can’t lose you as a client,” Pascoe finished, reaching shakily for the glass of water on his desk.

Ross leaned back in his chair, shaking his head lightly. Unbelievable. “Well, I’m not fully a board member yet –“

“But you will be,” Pascoe interrupted before he started to cough. Ross wasn’t sure if he choked on his water or if he was lost in a fit of nerves. Perhaps both. “Before that vote is cast, you will be. Your father held enough votes to stall the motion, those votes are yours now.”

“Harris, what you’re asking…” Ross started, running his hand through his thick, unruly hair. “It’s just… I know nothing about how the mines are doing. I’d have to talk to my uncle, see what’s best –“

“Your cousin Francis is close friends with George Warleggan, and Warleggan’s is where Charles intends to take your business. They’re prepared to offer Poldark Mines any loan you ask of them, but the interest rates would be crippling. Your uncle is preparing for his retirement, he’s not thinking of yours or Francis’s future. And your cousin – all he sees are the fancy parties and perks he gets with being a friend to George. He doesn’t have sense enough to look at the numbers!” Pascoe protested passionately. 

“I don’t understand – what loans would my uncle possibly need to take out?” Ross questioned, beginning to fidget himself. If what Harris Pascoe was saying was true, he’d signed on for far, far more than he’d bargained for.

“The mines are just barely breaking even these days, Ross,” Pascoe said quietly, drumming his fingers against the desk. “There’s improvements, investments, and cuts that could be made to help things, but Charles is ready to retire. He has no interest in doing anything but drawing his check and using his company account to spend lavishly on whatever piques his interest that week. Your father saw the writing on the wall, that’s why he wanted you to sell his mines and saddle Charles with the remaining shares!

“If the board was led by someone strong and more competent, Pascoe’s would gladly loan the money. But given the financial state of the mines and your uncle’s leadership – it’s a high risk.”

Ross felt a chill go up his spine. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t felt a bit bitter that his father’s will had intended for him to steer clear of the mines. Ross had been arrogant and stubborn, trademarks of the Poldark family, and had placed a bet on the wrong horse. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, feeling a horrible headache coming on.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before I signed the paperwork?” Ross asked, a bit pathetically. It wasn’t Pascoe’s fault – he should’ve demanded to see the numbers before taking on such a huge responsibility. But Ross had been determined to dive into something to distract him and proving Joshua wrong along the way was a bonus.

“Well… I-I tried,” Pascoe said nervously before taking another sip of water. “I called you twice yesterday, three times the day before. I couldn’t very well say any of this in front of your uncle. In fact, I shouldn’t be saying it in front of you now, all things considered. But I owe Joshua’s boy that much.” Ross was an idiot and he was feeling every inch of it. He’d seen the calls, had known it was Pascoe, but had assumed the banker was calling to “check up on him” or even to reminisce about Joshua. 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done,” Ross said miserably. There’d been several witnesses and a notary present to get everything changed over. “I’ll talk to my uncle and cousin, then to some of the other board members. You have my word that I’ll stall the transfer to the Warleggan’s bank as long as I can.”

Harris Pascoe looked visibly relieved, though his hand still trembled as he reached over to shake Ross’s. “Good man, Ross Poldark. You’re a good man. And, er, don’t say anything about my interference. Just take an active interest in your company, that’s all.”

Ross forced himself to offer Pascoe a tight smile before rising from the chair. Downstairs, Charles Poldark lingered in the lobby, leaning heavily against the cool marble wall. Ross was a bit surprised to see his uncle as he walked off the elevator. 

“Is everything alright, my boy?” Charles asked, his reddened face spreading into a large grin. 

Ross bit his lip, holding up the keys in the packet that Pascoe had given him. “Yeah – just talking a lot about the old days. You know how Pascoe gets.”

Charles seemed satisfied with that answer and pushed himself off of the wall to walk out with Ross. True to his word, Ross betrayed nothing.

\--

That afternoon, Ross visited his father’s office stationed at Wheal Grace. In contrast to his home, Joshua’s old office was quite plain, made up of white walls and cheap, plain black furniture he’d probably ordered from some office supply depot. The windows offered a terrible view of the mine workings below. The only decorations to speak of were old pictures of his mother and one of Ross when he was about twelve or thirteen. Messy stacks of papers strewn across Joshua’s desk tied the whole ensemble together. 

Ross sat down in the squeaky roller chair, trying to imagine himself filling the post. He’d gotten himself into a fine mess that would be near impossible to get rid of, all because of his hard-headedness. Sitting in that chair made him truly feel like a boy again, seeking his father’s approval. Only, he now knew that he’d gone directly against his father’s wishes and Joshua wasn’t even there to tell him so.

Ross had started stacking up the papers to clear off some of the mess left behind when a knock at the door interrupted his busy work. A tall, young, redheaded woman peeked inside timidly before slipping through the door all the way. Her hair was nearly as wild as Ross’s, though she’d admirably attempted to tame it by pinning it up. She was dressed smartly in a turquoise blouse and black pants. She was pretty, he decided. Young, but pretty. Ross’s eyebrow quirked in question, wondering who in the hell his latest intruder could be.

She folded her hands in front of her and offered him a dazzling smile. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. Mr. Poldark. My name’s Demelza Carne. I was hired to be your secretary.”

“Secretary? What happened to Bonnie?” Ross asked, remembering the old bat his father had been fond of. He’d wrongly eschewed too many of his father’s choices in the last few days; if Bonnie had been good enough for Joshua, she’d be good enough for Ross.

The question caused the smile to fall from Demelza’s lips and she nervously wrung her hands. “Oh, well, I believe she left a couple of weeks ago. I’ve heard from some other people she was sick. Cancer.” She whispered the last word as if speaking it too loudly would cause the disease to infect the pair of them.

Ross sighed, but nodded. He made a mental note to call on his father’s old secretary and check on her. In the meantime, the girl would work out. He had too much on his plate to give a shit about who helped him around the office. “Well, you’re here now. It’s good to meet you too.”

The smile returned to her face. She stood in front of his desk, giving him an earnest look as if she was expecting him to do something. An awkward silence fell over them until Ross finally broke it. “Did you need something, Demelza?”

“Oh. No, sir,” she replied quickly. Slowly, she backed out of the room, only pausing once she was halfway out of the door. “If you need anything, do let me know.” Ross gave her a final nod, then returned to sorting out his father’s messy desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for your kind words and kudos. They are very much appreciated!


End file.
